Destinies
by Galdr
Summary: He was here for a reason, he knew it. [Non-Perfect Chronology continuity] [endgame Radiant Historia spoilers] [Pre-ToS into main ToS] [Series of continued short stories] [PS3-ToS/DS-RH]
1. 1: Awake

When he first opened his eyes, he knew that something was off. Something was totally and utterly different. The powers he had been gifted had suited him well and adjusted far too quickly, but he noticed things he hadn't before. Things in the air that he was currently breathing in. It wasn't just pure gut instinct that told him he was far from home, far from those that he knew.

He did not recognize this place.

…But then again, he shouldn't have recognized it. Besides, as far as he knew, he wouldn't ever go back home. It was gone; he had left it because fate and destiny had thrown him in that path. He'd given his life for a greater consequence, and he didn't—couldn't nor wouldn't—regret it. If that was so, then how was he still able to breathe? Wasn't there supposed to be nothing after death? Perhaps, in the heavens, it was supposed to be as close to familiarity as possible? Interrupting his own thoughts, he saw another's face overhead; dark hair, short, male who wore glasses on his face. A human, not one he was familiar with—of course not, he was _dead_ ; why would they give a dead man something he knew in the afterlife—but he would have to make do with.

"You're awake," the unknown man spoke. He had a lighter voice, as if he hadn't fully grown but had reached far past the puberty stages. "We were starting to worry that you wouldn't wake at all."

"..."

He said nothing in response to the man, quietly observing him and the surroundings. Upon further inspection now that he was more aware, it was a house. There were two windows and two beds, and he was obviously lying in one. He also felt incredibly stiff, as if he'd ran across the world for hours nonstop.

"Are you able to sit up? Do you need any help?"

"..." More silence until, "...No." It was quiet and direct, but he wasn't crippled. After his adventures and constant journeys, he should be able to sit up despite his conditions. He gave all his limbs a slight test before actually moving to sit up. He knew he'd have to take it easy; he wasn't a machine running on Mana, after all. He took note that he was less than fully dressed. He spied his belongings sitting upon a chair in the room; his cloak, scarf, weapons and bags, hopefully containing all the items still inside them.

There were bandages around him though; his injuries from his last battle having come back to mind, the perpetrator responsible for it, and then—his disappearance thereafter. Just like many times before, his injuries had carried over with him and he hadn't the time to truly treat him due to the extreme necessity it was for him to complete his ultimate task.

Besides, where he was going, where he thought he was going, he wouldn't need to be healed. And yet, here he was.

It was peculiar. Strange, even.

Knowing that he couldn't remain silent forever, he fixed his gaze on the other occupant and quietly nodded in acknowledgement. "…Were you the one that helped me?" It was best to know, so he could repay his debt.

The man shook his head, "No. My friend Harley's the one that found you collapsed outside the town. He brought you in and, well, my sister and I couldn't turn a blind eye on him. Harley knows healing magic, so he had a hand in helping with your injuries." Hmm, so he owed this Harley his life. He'd need to locate him and question him, too. But first, he had some priorities to fulfill.

"…I see. Thank you. I want to find this Harley," he said, motioning to move his legs from the bed, sitting upright.

"Are you sure you should be up? I'm only a researcher, so…"

"I'm fine." He will be fine, actually. He had to be. "If you don't mind…" It was slow going for a moment, but he stood to his feet, balancing his weight on them once again for familiarity and began walking towards his belongings. His words had been the cue; the man had turned to exit to give him his privacy as he changed into his clothes. He saw that the holes and tears he'd acquired on his journeys had been mended. It wasn't entirely perfect, but the sewing skills were decent enough that it held the fabric together.

He dressed as quickly as possible and then fished through his bags to make sure everything was there, especially the important items. It seemed some had been shuffled or recently placed back into it—it seems they may have looked through to examine them, likely seeing if he was a threat or not. Thankfully, everything was accounted for and he tied the bags back before tying them around his belts to secure them in place. He sheathed his sword inside its scabbard that was held in place on the interior side of his shield, clicking when it was fully deposited. After a thorough movement examination, he was ready to go and headed down the stairs.

When he ventured down, footsteps quiet, he spied the man that had been in the room previously, a young woman that matched his physical description—likely a relative—and a man wearing a bandana that covered the majority of his red hair. At least, it looked red—perhaps lighter. Although the strangest thing was that this man had slightly pointed ears and the other two hadn't. Some other unidentified race he wasn't aware of, then?

"Linar was right; you are awake, that's wonderful," the woman greeted him when she spotted him. Her smile didn't reach her eyes, but he could tell she was being genuine. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I'm alive," he answered truthfully. There was no point in lying or telling half-truths. He, at least, owed it to these people that had housed and hospitalized him for who knew how long. Speaking of… "I assume this is your home, miss?"

She nodded. "Yes. I'm Aisha, and this young man here is Linar, my brother." The aforementioned young man from earlier inclined his head in acknowledgement, "And this here is Harley." The one in the bandana mimicked the gesture.

"Glad you're doing alright!" Harley said as he approached him, seemingly giving him a visual scan.

"I am, thank you. You're the one that found me, correct?"

"That's right. You were collapsed outside the town, not too far away mind, but any further and monsters would have eaten you for a snack." Ah, that wouldn't have been pleasant whatsoever. "You were just about finished regardless; your Mana had been nearly exhausted. It was a miracle that you hadn't died then and there."

… _Hadn't_ died? But, wasn't he supposed to…? Never minding that, he refocused quickly. "…I see. I had been fighting a tough opponent beforehand. How long was I out?" He tried to sound as grateful as possible towards them. Harley nodded and stood back to give him some room.

"A week at most," Aisha responded this time, drawing his attention to her, a brow raised. That long, huh? He must have really, well, overworked himself. But now that he knew he was going to be relatively alright, he needed answers to questions he had. The first thing was figuring out _where_ he was and go from there. The more he knew, the better he could figure it out on his own.

"Where am I?"

"Asgard, the City of Ruins," came Linar's reply. "It's quite a ways from Hakonesia Peak and the House of Salvation on the road. Not to mention, Luin in the—"

He'd stop listening there. This place, he didn't know an Asgard. Was it a new city, then? Or, someplace he'd never visited? After all, he'd been in the middle of a war and it had been coming to its final conclusion. But, he'd have heard about it while on his journeys in passing, he was sure. He'd also never heard of a 'Luin' either nor of a 'House of Salvation' _or_ a 'Hakonesia Peak' too. This was getting more peculiar… Where was this? Was it further down south?

Perhaps, he should utilize his skills here to get the necessary information.

"…I'm sorry, I can't really remember much of anything." He'd had his memories wiped once, it wouldn't be too far of a stretch to apply it here as well, until he could get comfortable with his new location.

Aisha seemed to buy this tale and gasped. "You don't—remember anything? Like amnesia…?" She asked, genuinely worried. It had made him a tad guilty, but in his line of work, he'd have to soldier through.

"…I remember some things, but not all of it. I just don't recall an 'Asgard' or where this is." It wasn't a full lie after all, if he was bending the truth to his advantage. He wasn't doing it for malicious intent—as he said before, he owed his life to them at the very least. The three exchanged concerned looks with one another before coming to a silent consensus.

"We'll tell you everything we know about here and the other cities and villages," Linar jumped at the chance, smiling reassuringly. "But first, we need a name for you. We can't just call you 'hey' or other rude gestures. Do you remember your name, sir?"

Now that, he knew for sure. He'd fought through a slight identity crisis once he discovered it on his own. Sure, he never truly remembered all that had happened prior to his new life, but he appreciated that it still lingered. However, that old life and his new one had effectively merged, one slightly stronger than its counterpart, but neither couldn't exist without the other. Keeping his eyes on the trio, he acknowledged them and divulged his name.

"…Stocke."


	2. 2: Adventure Anew

The first time Stocke had stepped outside the house that belonged to Aisha and Linar, he'd been taken slightly aback. It seemed like a well-built city; most of the buildings were built right into the cliffs. In fact, _all_ of them were. The air was clean and fresh. The power of the wind blowing the windmills was a sight to behold, in his eyes. Fair enough, he'd never seen a windmill like these before, but he was very familiar with _whirlwinds_. The wind was always strong here in Asgard, he learned.

He got a tour of the city and afterwards. He had seen and heard enough to know the gist of everything.

Linar was exceptionally helpful in recanting tales and stories about where 'this' was. This world was called Sylvarant, the moon in the sky at night was called Tethe'alla, and there were a few civilizations along with a wide, vast sea. Following the path out of Asgard, one would find the House of Salvation. Lake Umacy lied to the furthest north, hidden in a forested area. Further down to the northwestern direction one would find Luin, the City of Hope, and there was also Hima—though, it was more of a resting point for travelers than a city. There was also an offshoot of land that led to the Balacruf Mausoleum, which he was shown on the map. Near Luin was the ancient Tower of Mana. Over the Hakonesia Peak was a pass that led to the largest city in Sylvarant, called Palmacosta. Across the sea from Palmacosta, there was the fishing hamlet Izoold, followed by a path called the Ossa Trail, which led to a desert called Triet. A village of the same name resided there, and, further along that path nearing a forest was Iselia, another village.

He was also 'reeducated' with knowledge of terms and people; there were humans, dwarves, elves, although there were rumors that they were few and far between, and then the half-elves. Especially when it came to these 'Desians'; they were half-elves who oppressed the human race. They built ranches, which consumed a lot of mana from the world—goodness, that sounded _awfully familiar_ —and as far as they knew, there wasn't any way to rid of them. The Desians had built these places called Human Ranches, which cultivated captured humans for torture, as Stocke learned.

A day after learning of the Desians, Stocke noted how that conversation affected Harley, and he had asked him.

"I'm a half-elf," Harley had told him when he questioned it, "I know, the Desians are bad people. They make living hard, especially for other half-elves who just want to live in peace, like me."

Stocke knew he couldn't judge him for who he was. He'd been around those of different species before. Additionally, Harley wasn't hurting anyone like the other half-elves. He knew the people of Asgard were wary of Harley due to his race, but every day he was proving them wrong. Stocke could respect that. Harley was afraid that he would oust him like most would, but surprisingly to the half-elf, he didn't.

"You don't appear hostile and seem genuine," Stocke had told him, "You also saved my life when you could have left me there to die. As far as I see it, you're more human than humans themselves." Harley had smiled, grateful of the positive and accepted response. Aisha and Linar weren't discriminating him whatsoever, and now he had Stocke, another outside, to add to his list.

There was also the event when he discovered the Mana of this world was highly similar to the one from his previous one. It was richer to him and that could be because Vainqueur had been in massive decline due to the desertification and because of the thaumatech machinery. He could sense it and manipulate it easier here. Since he _wasn't there_ anymore due to the ritual, that issue _should have_ resolved itself, right? Despite that his place would have been taken, he had gone through with it anyway, and it saved the world. Or rather, it saved Vainqueur. What was interesting and disturbing to him was that Sylvarant was facing a similar issue in the massive decline of mana. Stocke silently wondered if there were any way he could return to his own world; obviously, he was stuck here until that issue could be resolved.

He'd been told that only elves and half-elves could sense, see and manipulate mana and use it for magic. Considering that he could do that as well, Stocke refrained from using any of his magical abilities. T'wouldn't do to draw attention unto himself, after all. Perhaps when alone, he could use it, especially on the monsters.

Aside from everything else, from the money currency called Gald, _not_ gold, to the geography of the land, it was safe to say Stocke's crash course in 'relearning' about Sylvarant went smoothly. He'd spent a few days doing so and recovering his strength. Aisha had forbidden him from leaving until Harley and the city's doctor told him he was clear. She seemed about as adamant as Sonja, and for that, had Stocke reminiscing about his friends. He didn't think he'd miss them that much, but he had given them a new chance to rebuild the world, to save it from the ritual and from the desertification. He believed they could.

But, that still didn't explain exactly how he was alive. Not only that, but the White Chronicle was still with him. It was a mysterious book, an artifact that helped him throughout his journey in saving his home world. Traveling through and between the timelines, assuring the wrongs were righted, ensuring its safety. The two kingdoms could heal, along with the Beastkind aiding them. In the past, he had united and made alliances all on his own before he had been killed. Despite his given amnesia and new life, he had still united the nations together. Again, for that matter.

And perhaps, he would never know the reason why he was here. Had the White Chronicle sent him here? He hadn't been approached by the twins yet. For the time being, he would be on his guard and adapt. As a former Specint agent, it was part of his job to adapt to the unknown swiftly and adjust accordingly.

On one of his ventures through Asgard by his lonesome to familiarize himself with the city, he'd been looked at strangely by some of the populace. The village mayor had especially kept his eye on him whenever he spotted him. With wearing his bright red attire, Stocke easily blended in with the shadows whenever he wanted but he naturally stood out just for them, too. He was hyper-aware that these people didn't trust him. He was fine with that; on a mutual level, he didn't quite trust them either nor did he have a reason to extend trust that was never earned.

Another day passed and the next time Stocke found himself outside, he was going with Linar and Harley. Linar had wanted to research a particular plant for personal reasons. Normally, he studied upon architecture and ancient history of Sylvarant, but it'd been a different occasion this time. Stocke had volunteered to accompany them as he was claimed his skill with the blade and could help protect Linar. Harley, being a half-elf, knew enough spells to defend himself with. The two would make a decent team should anything have happened. Fortunately or unfortunately for Stocke, they were never attacked so it went by without incident. In a way, he was alright with the lack of enemy encounters; it helped him keep his abilities back for now. He didn't want to reveal _too_ much, after all. The trio returned to the city with a minor success on Linar's part.

After that, Stocke normally wandered throughout the city, finding inconspicuous places to stand and think to himself. He was no closer to figuring out how he got here especially when he'd given up everything willingly to save his home world. He'd done his part already. So, why was he still alive? For that matter, _how_ was he still alive? Why was he here in Sylvarant? What purpose did he have here? Those were few of the several questions he'd been asking himself, but nothing could come to mind that would answer them. He'd have to discover this on his own, it looked like.

As time went on though, Stocke knew he couldn't stay for too long. He'd already felt he overstayed his welcome, but Aisha didn't appear to mind. He was starting to like Asgard a bit; it'd never replace what Alistel had meant to him, but it became a second home. If he'd been here with Raynie, could they have settled down here? She had said she wanted him to stop fighting back in Skalla, the desert town and he promised her that they would have a future together. He knew he broke that promise, but he'd heard her last words. She would be waiting for him to return. So were the others. He'd originally declined to stop at the time, wanting to help save the world from its fate before he thought about lying his sword down and living a peaceful life with an eventual family. Could he fulfill that promise to her?

…Of course, that'd never be, considering he wasn't _there_. It was a nice thought as the more he thought about Raynie and the idea of settling down once and for all, the more he wished he could have it. Asgard was peaceful, it was far away from the Desians, and there didn't seem to be too much danger here. Deep down, he knew he _couldn't_ stay. He needed to know what he was getting himself into by traveling around the world and making his own discoveries. Knowledge was important and having it would give him an edge. He knew he was looking for an excuse to leave, but in all honesty, he was remaining truthful to himself. Not only that, the less time he had to spend on reminiscing of the past, of his friends and his journeys, the more time he could spend on focusing on his current issues and possibly discovering ways to _return_ to Vainqueur. It was worth a shot, wasn't it?

It was a great idea to enact, but he'd never get the chance. Aisha approached him the next time and had talked to him. Somehow, she managed to get him to settle down in Asgard. "If you don't remember much and you don't have a home, why not make the city your new home?" She had said in her lengthy argument. He wondered if it was _okay_ to make Asgard his new home. It was cleaner, it didn't have thaumatech everywhere—once a boon but actually not for Alistellians once he had learned the truth of what it did—and it was _nice_. He'd given it some thought and perhaps it would be nice to have a legitimate, familiar place to return to whenever he got tired from his soon-to-be planned journeys across Sylvarant. He had one in Alistel, even if he never stayed for long as missions kept piling up, but it was the principle that mattered.

…In the end, he agreed. The city's mayor was hard to convince into letting yet another outsider in, but the older man stiffly gave it after being proven by Stocke's skills. Before long, his little home was getting maintenance. He wasn't sure if he wanted it carved into the cliff-side, but it was too late to voice his opinions. Harley, using his magic, had carefully managed to carve into the lower end of the cliff. It took a couple months with the combined efforts of all the citizens of Asgard to cooperatively assist in the endeavor. Wood, brick and other such materials were provided. He played his part as well even if he found the whole experience bizarre.

When the final month passed, the small house was finished. Stocke had worked odd end jobs to make enough money to purchase his furnishings, some shipped from Palmacosta through a delivery caravan. It wasn't _perfect_ , but Stocke called the small place his home. It had the necessities and he could finally leave Aisha and Linar's home to boot.

The next time he went out of the city, it was accompanying Linar again. They had traveled to Luin once; it was effectively a week long's trip. Along the way, he was shown the road, some places to avoid and the House of Salvation, too. During the trip Stocke was able to demonstrate his swordsmanship with some ease, protecting Linar from danger. The monsters weren't so bad nor the occasional bandit, though he had issues getting around them since they were sometimes partnered with what appeared to be half-elf spell-casters. When they arrived to Luin, Linar showed Stocke around; the shops, inn, and the fountain. They didn't stay for too long; the reason they went was mainly for a few ingredients only found in the City of Hope, and for Stocke to familiarize himself with it. They had made it back to Asgard in another week's time without too much incident, bypassing the House of Salvation once again. It was nice to get outside the city and finally get around.

Having his own private place again, it allowed Stocke to think without the notice or disturbance of his new friends. Yes, Linar, Aisha and Harley had become new friends without him knowing it. It was strange, though. They weren't like his other friends... Rosch, Sonja, Raynie, Marco, Aht, or Gafka, but he had bonded with them quite easily, strangely enough to him. It wasn't so bad, being honest to himself. He rarely approached anyone else outside of them anyway considering not many others wanted to truly associate with him. Although, he wouldn't say his presence was unwelcome. It'd been almost half a year since he's been in Asgard and he's only traveled to Luin and Hima a few times, if only to accompany one of his three friends or assisting in taking out a nest of monsters if they got overpopulated and endangered travelers.

Once another week had passed after it being five-going-on-six months into his having arrived, Stocke was finally ready to leave Asgard by his lonesome and travel around Sylvarant in the guise of 'wanting to re-explore.' Honestly? It was time for him to explore and get down to business. He's had enough time to 'settle'; now was time for action. He had a self-imposed task to complete. For one, gaining more information in any way possible, determining his continued existence and finding the way back to Vainqueur. Not all in that order of course. Before he could set off, Aisha approached him again and asked him for a favor, one he couldn't refuse out of respect for the woman.

"You wanted some ingredients only found in Triet?" Stocke asked her, reiterating her favor.

"Yes. I've heard they're only sold by merchants in Triet," Aisha confirmed, "You know, if it's not out of the way, if you could…"

"…It isn't," he replied gently, "It'll be awhile until I return."

"It's fine. Whenever you can bring it, that'll be wonderful."

"Alright."

"I'll see you when you return, Stocke. Thank you for everything."

She was thanking him? He hadn't done much except try to repay the kind debt he believed he owed to them. They're the ones whom had given him a new home in an unfamiliar world, even if he hadn't been fully honest. Speaking of, he had to rectify that sooner than later, although now wasn't the time. Instead, he nodded to her, "It's no trouble. Until then." He left her house and traveled down the steps, around the cliff-side to head into the main city proper. The people were out and about again, with more people than usual here. Looked like some tourists had come by to view the ruins. Stocke paid little attention to the unusual amount of hubbub and made his way to the city's exit.

"Hey, Stocke!" a familiar voice called and effectively stopping him. He turned to see who it was and wasn't surprised.

Harley and Linar eventually approached him as he was about to leave the city, both wanting to see him off. It was odd since they were supposedly heading for the ruins as Linar expressed interest in studying it. The half-elf and researcher both gave him encouraging words and for him to return. "Asgard's your new home now, so you have to return someday," Harley had said. Stocke had nodded—he wouldn't be gone for long. Or, at least, he hoped. Sylvarant seemed pretty small on a map, but no doubt it was larger than he would expect.

"Take care, Stocke," Linar said, "Don't be gone for long."

"I will and I'll try not to be. You two watch each other and Aisha."

"Don't worry, we will."

"Just make sure you visit again," Harley added.

After inclining his head to them, Stocke turned on his heel and geared himself for the next leg of his adventures. With Asgard behind him and Sylvarant's unexplored region in front of him, he knew he'd have his work cut out for him. First, he'd need to head over towards Hakonesia Peak and cross through there to reach Palmacosta.


End file.
